


Claiming Life

by fatalchild



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatalchild/pseuds/fatalchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angels have fallen. Some fare better than others. Some cling to their old identities, but as time passes, as Heaven becomes nothing more than a distant memory, at least two try to move forward, try to find something in their lives as humans worth fighting for. Castiel and Lucifer find each other 'human', and while they try to build something of a life together, each is carrying something that threatens to destroy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claiming Life

They find each other late at night, some time in the middle of December when the falling rain is on the cusp of becoming ice. Castiel is in the habit of walking with his eyes down, and he almost doesn’t bother to look up to the face of the man he almost walks into. The exchange is brief: a mumbled apology and a sharp breath. Castiel thinks he should be afraid, thinks he should run, but he isn’t, and he doesn’t. He recognizes the look in those hazy blue eyes and understands too well the pallor that has encroached upon, but not sullied, those beautiful features. He knows what’s happened, and he knows it’s his fault. Castiel would like to think that he’s motivated by guilt, that he’s making a conscious, albeit potentially self-destructive, decision, but deep down, he knows that’s not the case. There’s something else driving him, but he doesn’t know what it is, just that if he were smart, he’d run, but instead, he takes Lucifer home.

The apartment is small, a single room functioning as the primary living space and only one piece of furniture pushed into the corner. Castiel drops his eyes down sheepishly upon realizing that he doesn’t even have a couch to offer his brother to sleep on. He looks up when he hears Lucifer sigh. “This is kind of you,” Lucifer whispers, and Castiel thinks for a moment that he saw the start of tears there in his eyes. He doesn’t point it out. He shrugs his coat off his shoulders and hangs it up, noting silently that Lucifer doesn’t even have one. Castiel wants to pretend that it’s because he doesn’t need one, because he’s still an archangel, because he’s still a bundle of immortal, icy wrath beneath this calm exterior, but he recognizes the fear and the fragility, remembers sleeping on cold sidewalks and eating out of dirty rubbish bins with too much clarity to not recognize what’s happened here. Lucifer stands, tense and awkward, arms across his chest, refusing to step further inside with dripping clothes. Castiel says he thinks he has something that might fit him, doesn’t mention that the old sweatshirt and pants were stolen from a laundromat six months ago. Ashamed as he was, he couldn’t afford to throw anything out. Now he’s glad he kept them. When Lucifer returns, Castiel offers him the bed, but he refuses. He takes a spare pillow and blanket and curls up on the floor, seeming happy to just be out of the rain.

The fear comes the following morning, mingling with a sick sense of shame and twisting up inside Castiel’s gut. He walks to a nearby store and tries to stay calm during his careful selection of groceries. Upon returning, he finds Lucifer sitting in the corner, head lolled back against the wall. They stare at each other for a moment before Lucifer smiles.

“I thought you had gone.”

“I went to buy food.”

“Oh.” Lucifer hesitates, mouth twisting up to one side. “Do you want me to help you?”

“I can do it. I like doing it.”

Lucifer nods quietly and looks vacantly towards the window. Face turned away, there’s an expression of relief, fleeting and distant. Castiel’s no fool. Lucifer’s never prepared food, and an entire host of angelic knowledge pales in comparison to the mundane routine of human practice. He separates the food onto two plates, spreading it across one and heaping it into the center of the other. It makes the portions look more even.

The inevitable question comes halfway through the meal. Lucifer, both grateful for the food as well as resentful of his need for it, finally dares to ask, “How could this happen?”

Castiel knows, and he doesn’t. He knows the answer to an underlying question but lacks the answer to all the questions that come between. Feeling very much a coward, Castiel shakes his head and replies very simply, “I don’t know.” 

If he had an explanation that would be of any use, he thinks he would give it, but the unfortunate truth is that secrecy is as much to Lucifer’s benefit as it is his own. Castiel is quite certain that Lucifer doesn’t have anywhere else to go, and as the morning wears on with quiet hesitancy, suspicion becomes fact. Lucifer stays in the corner, avoiding eye contact like he’s afraid one wrong glance will get him thrown out. It’s not raining anymore. It’s snowing.

Castiel makes his mind up somewhere between a lukewarm shower and changing into his work uniform. He looks at the buttons on the navy blue vest while his fingers fumble and he mumbles out the words. “You can stay here if you like.”

Lucifer’s lips part in a small gesture of surprise, and he presses his mouth closed quickly, swallowing hard. He closes his eyes before they can show anything and forces his head to move in a hint of a nod as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Castiel thinks to tell him it’s all right, that things will be okay, that this life is not as bad as it seems. He thinks to walk across the room and put a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, to offer him some small form of comfort. But none of it seems sufficient, and none of it seems right. He leaves quietly, letting him grieve, and when he returns that night, Castiel finds himself strangely relieved to see Lucifer curled up asleep on the floor. They’ll have to do something about that. He can’t stay there.

***

At first, Lucifer is passionate and determined. Shaking off sleep deprivation and starvation, he emerges and bright as he ever was, boldly declaring that together they will reclaim their home. Castiel could almost be inspired, but as the days pass, he finds that he’s the one who has to explain that each plan Lucifer concocts has been tried and failed. Eventually, Castiel has to break the news that the prophet has finished translating the angel tablet and discovered that there is no means by which the spell can be reversed. Only the return of God can restore the angels to Heaven, and really, they both know that isn’t happening.

Lucifer stumbles, barely catching himself on the corner of the bed as he sinks down. “We’re stuck like this?”

“Is it really that bad?” Castiel asks, tilting his head, and his answer comes in the strange way he sees the light go out in Lucifer’s eyes. This time, Castiel does sit down beside him. He puts a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, and when his brother buckles forward, covering his face at the start of tears, Castiel just lets him cry. Lucifer folds into him in a way that Castiel would never have expected, and as the minutes turn to hours, Castiel finds the proximity undeniably pleasant. It is the first night they share the bed, but it is not the last.

It’s close to a week before Castiel gets bold enough to pick up the little pallet of blankets that had functioned as Lucifer’s bed before. He’s used it once in the past few days, but more often than not, they somehow end up sleeping together. There’s little contact. Their shoulders touch, sometimes their arms or the backs of their hands, but aside from that, there’s a constant distance. Yet Castiel has come to enjoy the feeling of Lucifer’s weight on the bed, and he freezes awkwardly when the door opens and he finds himself caught bundling up the floor bed in his arms. Lucifer meets his eyes but says nothing, just steps through to the shower. He doesn’t ask that night, doesn’t stand by the bed with hesitation in his eyes are start to slowly pile up blankets to sleep elsewhere. He just lies down in what has become his usual spot, close enough that Castiel can feel the warmth coming from his back.

Lucifer is gone when Castiel wakes up. It isn’t the first time. As he eats cold cereal alone, Castiel muses quietly, realizes that he doesn’t really have any idea where Lucifer goes or what he does. It bothers him, but not in the way he would expect. He keeps thinking to ask about it, but he always stops himself. Ultimately, he just assumes Lucifer is still chasing down means of unlocking Heaven. The truth comes out when Castiel comes home and finds Lucifer sitting on the corner of bed flipping through a newspaper with a pen in hand. He freezes.

“You’re leaving?”

Lucifer looks up, tilting his head with a soft smile. “No,” he replies, setting the pages down. Want ads-- Castiel feels almost guilty for being relieved. “Oh.”

“I wanted to find something… I don’t know. Help you.”

“You do help me,” Castiel insists.

“Hardly, certainly not in comparison with all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name one thing.”

“You wash the dishes after dinner, and you always make me coffee in the morning. There. That’s two.”

Lucifer stares at him for a moment and then starts to laugh. Castiel decides right then that it’s a nice sound. He likes Lucifer’s laugh. He likes him. With that realization comes the private admission that part of the reason that newspaper scares him so badly is that Castiel doesn’t want Lucifer to leave him, and once he no longer needs him as he does now, he almost certainly will. It suddenly feels like there’s an expiration date on their fledgling relationship, as if there’s only so much time for them to bridge the gap between the cooperation of unlikely allies and the reconciliation of brothers who must have, at some point, loved one another. Castiel can’t remember Heaven, and he dare not ask Lucifer for fear of driving him away. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s the thought of losing another person he’s begun to hold dear.

Lucifer seems proud when he gives Castiel the first envelope of money. He hands it over with a smile and absolutely no explanation, and Castiel accepts it without asking where it came from because he knows that, given their circumstances, Lucifer must have taken a mundane and menial job that is grossly beneath him. But he’s never complained. He never sighs when he leaves in the morning or scowls when he comes home at night. Lucifer is gracious and calm to the point of being stoic, and Castiel is inclined to think that maybe he’s accepting things, maybe he’s adjusting, but then sometimes he catches the way Lucifer sits by the window and looks at the stars. It’s a keen, pervasive sense of longing, radiating from him and settling heavy over the whole of the room. Another thing Castiel won’t comment on. Whether it’s grief or hope, it’s something Lucifer needs to cling to for now. Maybe Castiel needs something to cling to as well.

The money piles up, mostly because Lucifer never spends it on anything. He pays his half of the expenses and his own food costs, but he indulges nothing further. Insistent on paying Castiel back for his kindness, Lucifer instructs him to take what he pleases if ever he wants anything, but that’s a line Castiel won’t cross. There is a time when Lucifer accompanies him to a bookstore and upon watching Castiel debate for twenty minutes over two hardback copies of various classics he wishes to read, buys the second for him. Lucifer is as much pleased with giving the gift as Castiel is with receiving it. Then, a week later, Castiel comes across an advertisement for a new movie he wants to see, and Lucifer asks if he would allow him to take him. It’s when Lucifer pulls the lock box from its hiding spot to gather the money that Castiel realizes exactly how well his older brother is doing for himself. He’s pleased but also quite hesitant. Between the two of them, they’re making more than enough money to afford a bigger apartment, but with that comes the conversation about separate rooms, separate beds. Neither one is willing to breach the topic. Neither is willing to confront the situation and risk having it change. So they don’t, and it doesn’t. 

It’s several weeks, several gifted books, several shared movies, and countless nights together later when Castiel finally accepts what’s happened. He’s creeping in through the front door from a late shift at work when he sees Lucifer carelessly sprawled across the bed, one arm stretched to the vacant side, waiting for him. There’s a sticky note on the refrigerator that tells him where his portion of dinner is and how to go about reheating it. As he’s sitting alone at the small table poking his way through the creamy noodle dish, Castiel looks over and feels his heart clench. If that bed were empty, if Lucifer’s arms weren’t open and waiting for his return, what would he have? What would the point be? Covering his face with his hands, Castiel admits it to himself. The difference between going back to his apartment and coming home is whether or not Lucifer is there, but as surely as he knows he can’t stand to lose him, Castiel also knows that he has no right to keep him.

It’s another week before he builds up the nerve. Castiel sits at that same small table, hands wrapped around his cup of tea. His fingers tremble when he hears the door open, and whatever Lucifer is saying as he comes in and shakes off his jacket is lost on him. He waits for a break of silence, looking up with teary eyes.

“...and I thought-- What’s wrong?”

“I did it,” Castiel blurts out.

“Did what?”

“The angels. Heaven. It was me.”

Lucifer stares at him dumbly. He squints, brows twisting together.

“It was an accident. Metatron tricked me. I thought I was--” Castiel steps forward, reaches out for the comfort that has become so familiar to him, but Lucifer pulls away, grief and betrayal colouring his features. 

“You knew?”

“I’m sorry. If I had told you, you would have left, and I just--”

Lucifer avoids contact with another step back. His hands raise in a gesture of resignation, and he turns sharply away.

“Please don’t go,” Castiel calls after him, but the only response is the slam of the door.

Without Lucifer, the bed is vacant and cold, and Castiel can’t sleep in it. He spends the night pacing, biting his nails, telling himself that Lucifer has to come back if only to collect his things. That will be the last time Castiel sees him, no doubt, and Castiel can’t even find it in himself to fault Lucifer. Everything they have built here was founded on Castiel’s deception. He has no choice but to let it go.

It’s almost dawn by the time Castiel gives up to lie down and sleep. He’s only beginning to turn the blankets down when the door opens. Castiel stops, turns.

“Don’t talk,” Lucifer says firmly.

Castiel nods.

Lucifer paces back and forth, rubs his jaw for a moment before he stills. “You lied to me.”

Castiel nods again, unwilling to break his vow of silence.

“This whole time. You let me run around like an idiot trying to find a way when you knew there wasn’t one. I have been in agony, Castiel, trying to figure out what happened to me, to all of us, and you had the answer all along and kept it from me? _Why?_ ”

“Because,” Castiel whispers, pressing his lips together for a moment to cease their trembling. “Because that’s what humans do when they want something really, really bad.”

Lucifer frowns at him, face twisting up in confusion.

“I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Two beats of silence, and Lucifer moves forward. His hands are on either side of Castiel’s face, turning him up to kiss him. Castiel can’t even think to doubt, can’t even think to hesitate. His arms are around Lucifer like it’s second nature, because it is now. They stumble back towards the bed, fingers grabbing and pulling at clothes, tripping over them as they discard them in their haste. It’s a bit clumsy, a touch graceless, but it’s tangible and sincere and theirs. Castiel has never been held like this, never been kissed like this, and when Lucifer starts to move against him, he clings like he’s afraid this might be the first and the last time he has him so close. They find a rhythm together, Castiel’s legs up around Lucifer’s hips, and for as near frantic as it all is, it’s also natural and easy. Castiel doesn’t want it to end, but when he hears Lucifer’s wrecked voice panting out his name, it’s all worth it.

They lie together in the dark for a long time afterwards. The change is obvious, and now that the bed they have shared has become their bed, Castiel doesn’t worry so much about curling up close and hugging Lucifer’s arm. Lucifer looks over at him, reaches to fix his perpetually disheveled hair back.

“You should have told me,” he says.

“I know.”

“You should have trusted me.”

“I do trust you. I just… didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Over a mistake?”

“It’s still my fault.” Castiel’s voice catches, and he swallows down the start of tears.

Lucifer cups his chin, presses their lips together once more. “No,” he whispers, “it isn’t.”

It is the first time anyone has ever said that to him, and just like that, Castiel starts to cry.

Things are different after that. They take well to being a couple, and there’s no real difference between what they were and what they are besides the open acknowledgment. Castiel’s retail work leads to a position as assistant manager, and Lucifer finds a job working as an editor. It suits him well, Castiel thinks. The constant influx of books appeal to his innate curiosity, and the detailed task that he’s charged with sees that he never becomes too bored. He works mostly from the apartment, not terribly fond of socializing with humans, and that too improves his mood. Castiel enjoys having a first glimpse at various manuscripts and texts, and they often spend their nights together curled up in their bed reading, making love, falling asleep together with scattered pages tossed carelessly on the nightstand. They never manage to find a new place, not out of avoidance but simply because this place is theirs and it’s become too important for either to let go.

They are happy for two years.

***

Neither one thinks anything about the headaches at first. After all, humans have headaches sometimes, and while Lucifer has adamantly maintained that they are not and will never be humans, he has accepted, to some degree, the reality of their bodies. That the ever present nightmares seem to coincide with the headaches seems like something between common sense and coincidence, and although Castiel begs him to see a doctor, Lucifer instead ups his dose of ibuprofen and takes a day off work.

The situation persists, and they fight over it from time to time, but Castiel never has the heart to be too angry. He worries constantly, though, and his worry is validated a couple months later when he gets a phone call at work informing him that his brother collapsed unconscious at a local grocery store. Castiel takes time for a family emergency and spends most of the day pacing the waiting room of a hospital and being told absolutely nothing. By the time they take him back, Lucifer is on an involuntary psych hold and looks like a complete stranger. The darkness under his eyes is more prominent, and his refusal to look up is uncharacteristic and disturbing. Lucifer laces his fingers, unlaces them, closes his eyes.

“I said too much,” he whispers.

“What did you say?”

“I don’t really remember.”

“That’s okay.”

“I told them we were brothers.” Lucifer looks up. “I read in a book that only family can get into these places, and I couldn’t stand not seeing you.”

“I understand.”

“They said they’ve admitted me.”

“Just until you feel better. I’m sure it won’t be long.” Castiel steps over, reaches to run his fingers through Lucifer’s hair. 

Lucifer nods. “Will you come see me?”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel whispers, kneeling to hold Lucifer close against him. “I promise. Every single day.”

It’s a promise Castiel endeavors to keep, though Lucifer might not know it. Some days, Castiel shows up only to be told that Lucifer isn’t well enough to receive visitors. The staff won’t answer his questions. After several days of wondering, Castiel corners a doctor and demands to know his brother’s condition. He gets a snide reply, an assertion that they don’t _look_ like brothers, and while he knows he’s going to have to forge some documents to that effect, Castiel deflects for the moment by claiming they were adopted.

Lucifer is happy to see him, and while he tries to return the sentiment, Castiel can tell that something is very wrong. The white hospital garb hangs loosely over Lucifer’s shoulders, and the thin paper bracelet dangles more than it did just a week before. His skin is greyish and pale all the way down to his chapped lips. Castiel asks him if he’s been eating properly, and Lucifer shakes his head, says that he can’t. He won’t say why. Castiel sits by him on the bed, holds his hand. They spend the rest of the visit like that, just quietly holding hands.

Once Castiel has established himself as next of kin, albeit through forged documents, the doctors are more willing to talk to him. The story unfolds like a nightmare, one too familiar to be a dream. Castiel sits back in stunned silence as words like hallucination, sleep deprivation, electric shock therapy float around him. They want his consent for the treatment, something he hesitates to give since he knows it won’t make any difference.

When they finally let him see Lucifer, it only takes one glance before he’s certain.

“How long have you known?” he whispers.

Lucifer shrugs one shoulder. “A while, I think. I suspected.”

“We’ll find a way. We’ll try everything.”

“If I do that, will you still come visit me?”

“I’ll come visit you no matter what.”

Lucifer nods quietly.

***

The days go by slowly. Lucifer is unresponsive to therapy, unresponsive to drugs, unresponsive to every treatment they try. Castiel spends his days at the hospital holding Lucifer’s hand and his nights in their painfully empty apartment pacing back and forth and crying in frustration. If he were an angel, he could fix this. If he had his grace, he could shift the mess of Hell out of Lucifer and into himself where it belongs. Castiel screams. He cries. He breaks dishes and throws himself on the bed in helpless frustration. Then he prays, to God, to other angels, even to Metatron himself if someone will just save his lover, but Lucifer is one person that no one will afford a miracle. 

He hardly manages to smile the next time Castiel goes to see him. He’s laid out on his bed, looking thin and frail under the pile of blankets. He opens his eyes, blinking against a haze of visions that aren’t really there. 

“Hello, brother.”

Castiel smiles tearfully. “Hi.”

“I’ve missed you.” Lucifer holds out his arm, making room beside him on the little bed, and Castiel rushes forward.

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispers, laying his head down against Lucifer’s shoulder. He’s still for a long time, trying to think of some comfort to offer, but of course, Castiel can’t lie to him again.

“Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“I’m tired,” Lucifer whispers.

Castiel turns over to hold him, wrapping Lucifer up in a gentle embrace. “I know,” he says. “Try to rest.”

Lucifer breathes out a shaky sigh, but he doesn’t respond after that. The light starts to fade, and he stays still, stays silent, breathing slow and even. Castiel stays close, even long past visiting hours. The staff is willing to allow it if it means Lucifer will sleep.

When morning comes, Castiel wakes to confusion and then a little hum of relief. Lucifer is still curled up beside him, head down on the pillow, eyes closed. Castiel smiles, reaches to brush Lucifer’s hair back off his forehead, and he notices that Lucifer is still, very still.

“Lucifer?” he whispers, but there’s no response. Castiel grabs his shoulders, fingers trembling. “Lucifer? _Lucifer_.” Castiel shakes him, calls to him, but there’s no answer. Blankets twisted around his legs, Castiel nearly falls from the bed. Scrambling to his feet, he runs out into the hallway and calls for help.

They tell him it wasn’t his fault, that there was nothing he could do. Lucifer’s inability to eat or sleep had finally caught up to him, and his heart simply gave out in his sleep. Castiel cries, chokes on sobs and waits to wake up. He doesn’t. A nurse hugs him and tells him to take solace in the fact that his brother didn’t die alone, and when Castiel cries about all the things that he never got to say, she tells him that it’s alright, that Lucifer surely knew that he was loved. Castiel isn’t so sure.

It feels wrong to bury him, feels even worse to commit his body to the flames so reminiscent of the pit that claimed his life. But Castiel knows this isn’t really Lucifer, not anymore. Lucifer was a being of love and light and grace. He was an angel, the finest angel God ever created, and Castiel can only hope that he’s found his way to an afterlife even halfway worthy of him. Somehow, he doubts it. If he’s learned anything over the years it’s that God is cruel, capricious, and neglectful. 

In the end, he burns the body and scatters the ashes out to the ocean in penance. Castiel says his goodbyes there, finding no point in holding a funeral for someone that the world failed to love as he deserved. He packs up their apartment and sells most everything he owns. It’s not home now. Not anymore.

Weeks later, he calls Dean simply because he has nobody else to call. Castiel expects the number to have changed, but the Winchesters are predictable in some ways, and the ringing is less of a surprise than he might have thought. 

“This is Agent--”

“Dean.”

“...You’ve got a lot of nerve calling here, Cas.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were dead, man. Do you have any idea what kind of mess we’ve been in the past couple years?”

“You kicked me out, and I… I met someone.”

Dean is quiet then, voice cold and hard when he finally speaks. “You ditched us for a girl?”

“You kicked me out,” Castiel insists.

“So you just bail on the whole cause? For a girl?”

“There was nothing I could do, and no, not for a girl.”

“So… you’re…”

“An angel, Dean. I’ve been with another angel.”

“Great. Fantastic. Either one of you figured out some way to get all the winged douchebags fucking shit up back home?”

“No,” Castiel sighs. “We tried. Lucifer tried everything he could think of but--”

“I’m sorry. Lucifer? Did you just say Lucifer?”

“...Yes.”

“You’re shacking up with the Devil? Cas, buddy, I knew you had some issues, but that is pretty--”

“He’s dead,” Castiel snaps. “He’s dead, Dean. That’s why I called you, because he was all I had and now he’s gone and I don’t… I don’t know…”

Dean blows out a sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas. I’m not going to act sad that Lucifer’s gone, but…”

“No. I suppose you wouldn’t.” Castiel clenches his jaw to keep from crying, but he wants to scream. A part of him wants to tell Dean that he’s a monster to delight in Lucifer’s death, that Lucifer was a good person who died terribly at the hands of an unjust God. But Castiel doesn’t say that, because Lucifer deserves more. He swallows the words down with the tears. “Well, congratulations. Enjoy paradise.”

“What?”

“Lucifer is dead. It’s paradise.”

“Cas… wait…”

But Castiel doesn’t wait. He slams the phone down and leaves it behind when he goes. His purpose seems clear now, though he can’t figure out where that clarity came from. Maybe he’ll die. Maybe he’ll be the one doing the killing. Either way, he’s going to find Michael. If Lucifer was freed from the Hell, it stands to reason that Michael was too. Castiel should find him, congratulate him on his victory, maybe tell him about Metatron. It won’t make a difference, not to Castiel at least, but it’s all he can think to do now.

When he steps out from the cover of mourning and back into the world, Castiel finds that little has changed. Humanity is still petty and selfish and cruel, and they still blame a nonexistent devil for every shortcoming. Lucifer is gone, and yet there is no paradise. In fact, the world seems to have grown several shades darker for the absence of his light. Perhaps Castiel just sees the shadows more clearly now. He trudges on.


End file.
